November has come and gone, again, and it’s starting that dark, dreary time again. Tick, tick, tick. Shut up, mortality. Spring will come again, and many more after it.
The first of December. “The first of December was covered in snow,” sang James Taylor. I don’t care about the turnpike from Stockridge to Boston, but I am a little concerned about Highway 7 out to Lindsay tomorrow. Once again, I am gambling on all-season radials. I know, I know. But I’ve driven in winter on them for years, and never had a problem. It only takes one, I know. But I still think it’s a conspiracy by the tire companies. You’ll come see me in the hospital, right?
The first of December isn’t always covered in snow. I check this every year, because of that song, being a huge James Taylor fan. Often the first of December is rainy and shitty, but it’s not always covered in snow. True dat.
The first of December is also World Aids Day. Please wear a ribbon if you have one, or at least pause for a moment and devote some mental energy to this cause. I’d really appreciate it. Just a moment.
The first of December is Christmas panic time for many. I refuse to participate. I’ve done all the shopping I’m going to do, I’m going to hunker down in the warm and knit my heart out, thinking about the recipients of that knitting and sending out waves of goodness to them as I do so.
This Christmas is going to be a bit of a different dynamic for me, but I’m feeling really well for the first time in years, strong and healthy and full of cheer.